


Feeding the Muse

by St_Salieri



Series: Vampires are Stupid [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, Humor, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-03
Updated: 2006-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens when maudlin vampires, booze and writing materials intersect. Post-<i>The Girl in Question</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeding the Muse

 

"You're sulking."

"No, I'm not." Pause. "Okay, yeah, I am. And so are you, I'll have you know."

Heavy sigh. "That didn't exactly go as I'd planned."

"Take a memo. It never does, especially not when _she's_ involved."

Growl. "It's all _his_ fault. I still say there's a spell involved. And on top of everything else, we lost the Capo's head, which means I've got to get ready for a war as soon as we're back in L.A. This plane has phones, right? I'd better give Gunn a heads-up. Maybe he can talk to the Goran, try to smooth things over until...Spike? Are you listening?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I got bored."

"Fine. Whatever."

Long pause, punctuated by the sighs of the deeply persecuted.

"Did you bother to restock the bar while we were there?"

Look of mild panic. "I told you to do it!"

Look of utter disgust. "No, you wanker, you told me you didn't trust my choices! That you alone knew where to track down a really good bottle of whiskey. Which I could have done on my own, thank you very much, and...."

"Shut up, Spike." Stands, starts pacing. "I can't take this. I've got a lot on my mind, we've got a long flight ahead of us, and the only way I can handle things is if you keep your mouth shut for once."

Snort. "Yeah, I'd like to see you try anything, Mr. Puffy Coat."

"I happen to know that there's a nice set of chains in the overhead bin, and that the bathroom door locks from the outside. Don't tempt me."

Interested blink. "Are there really? Chains?"

Dry laugh. "Gotta love Wolfram & Hart."

"Because if we turned around now, we could probably grab Buffy before sunrise, and use the chains to...oh, never mind." Despairing sigh. "Are you sure there's no booze left?"

Rolls eyes, stomps over to the cabinet and flings open the door. "I already told you, I didn't...."

"...didn't mention your short-term memory loss?" Appreciative whistle at the rows of full bottles. "Is that a bottle of Ben Wyvis? Toss it over, will you?"

Snatches up bottle and cradles it protectively. "You don't deserve the good stuff. All of that rotgut you drink? You couldn't tell the difference. And where did this stuff come from anyway?" Examines bottle more closely, groans in disgust.

"What?"

Plucks tag off bottle. " _Compliments of The Immortal_."

"Oh." Short pause. "That bastard! How dare he insult us this way!" Longer pause, slightly more hopeful. "Still, no reason we shouldn't take advantage of his generosity, is there? It would be a bloody crime to let that go to waste."

Sigh of surrender. "Oh, what the hell."

 

**********

"...and then we can use some flamethrowers! Yeah, that's it. Bring in the big guns, give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him feel what it's like to get the clothes burned right off _his_ body."

"Flamethrowers! That's good."

"And then we can..." Cranes neck. "Wait a second. Angel, are you...writing this down?"

"What? No!" Slightly sheepish. "Well...yeah, kind of. It's just something I use to...hey, give that back!"

Drunken giggle. "A notebook? What, you use this to write down your strategies for some big corporate takeover? Your favorite Manilow lyrics? Or maybe all of those wonderfully witty comebacks you don't come up with until two hours too late?"

"No, it's...I said, give it back!"

Scuffling and growling. Bottle broken, followed by spillage of precious alcohol and anguished cry. Notebook torn in half.

" _Thank_ you. Now, if you'd just let me seen it when I asked..."

"Spike, I'm warning you...."

"...we wouldn't be having these little problems, you selfish ass." Hiccups, sways dramatically. "Now, what's so secret you couldn't let old Spike see, eh? I thought we were past that, you and me. Best of friends, and all that rot." Flips through the pages.

Makes another grab for the book, sighs in defeat and opens a new bottle of whiskey. "I'm going to stake you later. You know that, right?"

"Hang on for one bloody second." Squints, peers at page. "Is that a...to-do list?" More giggles. "Oh, this is good. _1\. Ask Wesley about effects of Brecht demon bite on vampires. 2. Destroy Brecht demon compound. 3. Ask Harmony to pick up more silk socks._ " Howls of laughter.

"I told you, it's nothing you'd be interested in. Now give it back."

"Oh, you corporate maven you. I'm swooning at your manly display of capitalism."

Growls. "That's it."

More scuffling and slapping. Bloody noses given and received.

"Come on, Angel. Serves you right for neglecting the in-flight entertainment. Would it have killed you to put a telly in here?"

"Fine!" Collapses into chair and sulks. "Just don't bother me."

Grins in triumph, flips through pages. "Lists...lists...ha, I knew there'd be lyrics! What a girl. More lists...hang on, what's this?"

Looks up uneasily. "What? What did you find?"

Chortles. "Tell me this isn't...no, that would be too bloody priceless."

"Spike, what are you..."

" _Destiny's Sword: The love story of Liam and...and Muffy._ "

Beat. Howls of laughter. Sulking from the other corner of the plane.

"Oh, God...." Buries head in hands. "I forgot all about that. Spike, I'm begging you. Just give it back and forget all about it. You want a new car? Is that it?"

"Not a chance, _Liam_. Oh, this is too good. Let me guess. You thought you'd write it all down, your whole sad, sordid affair. Therapy, right? And then get it published under a false name. Why else change the names? And I have to say, your choices aren't at all obvious." Thumbs up. "Good show, mate."

Pause. Evil grin. "Yes, Spike, you're exactly right. And you know what I was thinking of using as a pseudonym? William Pratt."

Pales in horror. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Just try me."

Stares defiantly, then wilts. "Oh, fine. Your secret's safe with me."

"Great. Now give it back."

"Oh, come on. Let me take a peek at the story, will you?"

Hesitates. "You'll laugh."

Chortles. "Bloody right I will. But if it's any consolation, I'll probably forget most of it once I sober up." Flips through pages. "Your prose could use a bit of work. I've never seen anything so purple."

"Yeah, you'd know all about that."

"Hey!"

"Just saying. I've read your poetry, remember?"

Sulks. "And I see you couldn't resist taking a few liberties with the story." Clears throat. " _The blonde, blue-eyed girl wrapped her tiny hands around the muscular back of her dark-haired lover, and swooned in his arms._ "

"Wait...what's wrong with that?"

"Oh, you mean besides the bit about the muscular back? Or the fact that Buffy doesn't swoon? She doesn't even have blue eyes, you git!"

Pause. "She...doesn't?"

Stares. "No."

"Huh. I must have...huh. So what color are they?"

Rapturous sigh. "They're this...it's almost a hazel color, right? And when the light hits them just right, they almost glow, like the sun shining through the leaves of young trees."

Grudging blink. "That's...not half bad, actually."

Beams. "Really? Thanks! And when she's aroused, they turn dark and heavy, almost like..."

Holds up hand. "That's enough, okay? I get the point."

"Hey, did you get to the bit about her killing you? Because that's my favorite part of the story." Flips pages, pauses in horror. "You wrote a sex scene?"

"No! Well, I tried. It's part of the story, isn't it? I just...couldn't get the words out."

"Well, let's see if we can't fix this up a bit. You have a pen on you?"

Suspicious stare. "You want to help me write this?"

Shrug. "Why not? Got nothing better to do. Besides, I think you could use my...expertise on the subject." Leer.

"Shut up, Spike."

 

**********

"Okay, got it. Heaving breasts."

"You sure we can't say bosoms?"

"Nah, that's a wretched word. Breasts it is. Or do you prefer tits?"

"No, breasts is good. Whiskey?"

"Thanks, mate. Right, then. See, it's not quite enough. It needs more..."

"Action? Description?"

"Smut."

"Hey! I'll have you know that it was _not_ like that between us. We made love. It was beautiful!"

"It was boring, you mean. Now, do you want my help or not?"

Sulks. "Fine."

"Okay. We need more about the tits. I mean, breasts. Let's see...." Scribbles. " _Her heaving breasts glistened with drops of sweat that rolled off the ends of her nipples._ "

Wince.

"What now?"

"I don't know. Is all that sweat really sexy?"

Scoffs. "Oh, please. The sweatier, the better. And when's the last time you got some anyway?"

"Spike...."

Hands up defensively. "Just saying."

"Are you sure about the word nipples? It seems too...I don't know, cow-like."

"You would prefer I called them udders?"

Beat. Hysterical giggles from all parties.

Wipes tears away. "That's an image I did _not_ need. Okay, you don't like nipples. Any suggestions?"

"I don't know. Something a little more subtle, maybe?"

"Wait! I've got it." Scribbles. "Okay. _Her heaving breasts glistened with drops of sweat that rolled off the tips of her firm nubbins._ "

"Hey...not bad! Nubbins. I like it. Is there any more whiskey?"

"You drank it all. But there's a bottle of bourbon over there."

"Excellent."

 

**********

"Ten inches."

"Oh, please. Five, tops. Six if I'm being generous."

"Aw, are you putting yourself in the story now, Spike? That's so sweet!"

"If I was putting myself in the story, the bloke would be a good twelve inches, no problem."

"In your dreams. You think everyone doesn't already know that you're overcompensating for _something_ with that name?"

Roar of rage. More casualties from amongst the empty liquor bottles. One ergonomic neck pillow destroyed.

"Fine! We'll compromise. Eight inches sound good?"

Heavy sigh. "Okay, fine."

"Good. Eight inches of throbbing man-meat coming up."

"...just tell me you're not actually using those words."

"What, man-meat? Well, what would you prefer? Prick? Thick cock? Dripping shaft? Love pole? Flesh rod?"

"Okay, I get it!" Long pause. "I guess dripping shaft sounds good."

 

**********

"I am _not_ letting you use that word to describe Buffy!"

"What, cunt? It's a perfectly serviceable word! Nice and earthy, you know?"

"But it's not her! She needs something softer."

Pained sigh. "Fine. And you've already turned down quim. Does pussy work?" Scribbles frantically. "Yeah, that'll do. _Her bare, weeping pussy...._ "

"What do you mean, bare? She wasn't bare. I mean, she was, you know, groomed, but...."

Satisfied smirk. "Oh, that's right. That's something _we_ did together. I'm telling you, Angel, there's nothing quite like going down on her after she's just been shaved."

Glares. "If I had more energy I'd kick your ass for that. Gimme the scotch."

Tosses the bottle. "Right, here we are. _Her bare, weeping pussy throbbed, her love button aching for a touch. Her glistening folds..._ "

Snicker. "Love button?"

Clucks sympathetically. "Don't know what it is or how to find it, do you? No wonder the poor girl needed a real man to...hey, mind the hair!"

More bottles broken. Black eye given. Ear bitten clean through.

More sulking in separate corners.

"Spike...what are we doing?"

"Dunno. Pretty stupid, isn't it? But after seeing her like that, dancing...." Suspicious sniffle.

"Yeah." Matching sniff. "God, we're pathetic."

"Hey, speak for yourself!" Wilts. "Yeah, okay. We're pathetic."

Heavy sigh. "Just do me a favor and destroy the notebook. No one needs to see that."

"Yeah. No problem."

 

***** Two days later *****

"Spike!"

"What? I'm right here. No need to shout."

Vibrating with rage. "I thought I told you to get rid of that notebook!"

Defensive. "I did! I just, you know, made a copy first."

"And sent it by global email to the _entire firm_! I'm going to kill you!" Wild swing.

Ducks, holds hands up. "It's not what you think...."

Sputters. "It's not what I think? How could you do that? How could you do that to _Buffy_ , you little shit?"

"Hey! I didn't do anything to Buffy. If you'd bothered to actually look at it, you'd see that I made one little change before I sent it out."

"...what change?"

"Nothing much. Just a slight alteration of the names."

Suspicious glare. Grabbing of printout.

" _Destiny's Sword: The love story of...Angel and Harmony._ "

Growling. Exeunt Spike at great speed. Exeunt Angel, avec sword.

 


End file.
